


The Trap

by SgtSalt



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Choose Your Own Adventure, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Q (James Bond), M/M, Protective James Bond, Q is not a Damsel in Distress, it's the old kidnapping plot before we get the new movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtSalt/pseuds/SgtSalt
Summary: Following an internal breach, the most dangerous man in England gets kidnapped. Thankfully, MI6 has James Bond to send after him.This writer is very open to reader suggestions on what aspects of this to focus on/what might occur going forward. Please feel very free to leave suggestions; see author's note at end for more.
Relationships: James Bond & Eve Moneypenny, James Bond & M | Gareth Mallory, James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	The Trap

"—No, double-oh-seven, your other left. How did you ever get your driver's license?"

"I'd been hit in the head a bit less that day." Bond abandons his attempt at opening the half-rusted door he was just holding and moves further down the hall, crosses to the other side. This one opens with just one heavy kick. 

There's a sound, or rather a lack of it, on the other side. Q cutting off the feed to yell at the rest of Q-Branch, is usually what that means. Bond shoves forward towards the furnace, an enormous, low-slung piece of metal that looks like it's at least as old as he is. It's probably been turned off for about as long as Q's been alive. 

Bond's about to say as much when the static returns. "Is the file there?" 

"Just getting it open." It hadn't budged the first time Bond tried the ancient door handle, so he's searching the room swiftly for something blunt and heavy. A literal brick ends up being selected. 

"Well do— hurry. You know we're pressed for time after the flight delays."

Not Q's usual chatter. Or tone. Bond _hmms_ noncommittally as he shatters the brick against the ancient iron furnace door. The lock snaps off like an acorn top, all rusted metal. Bond gets orange dust on his hands while he opens it and reaches inside, first blind and then with his flashlight when he doesn't immediately feel anything. 

Bond stares in and wishes he hadn't wasted three bullets getting through a door several hundred meters back up the hall. "I think someone's stolen our mail, Q."

The point person who was supposed to be leaving them a short list of names in exchange for a sentence bargaining could have been killed on the way there, or followed and had it stolen. Bond just had to clamber his way into this hellish basement; he knows damn well no one stumbled in here to find the papers on bloody _accident_ — 

"We've. I've just gotten a report that the pickup location's been changed, actually."

Q's tone seemed too clipped before. Now, it's downright rehearsed. Bond's chest feels like someone dumped ice water on it. Adrenaline rings out to his fingertips. He dumps out his half-used clip and inserts a new one, pockets the half-empty one. He listens for something to tell him he's making up how fishy this sounds.

Q hasn't turned off the feed again. He can, just barely, realize that over the open channel static he's hearing Q's breathing. Like he's also just had a rush of adrenaline that he can't quite school himself through.

Bond doesn't want to be the first one to speak. And then he doesn't have to be. 

"Bond, it's a trap." All said at once, an aggressive staccato that Q barely enunciates before Bond hears gunfire. He instinctively flinches away from the noise, but it's perched directly in his ear. He grabs his earwig and then just holds it there, unwilling to risk turning the volume down. 

"Who's in there?" Bond's voice carries a heated threat.

But there's no sound from the other end. No open-channel static. 

Bond has been alone this entire mission, but now he _feels_ the distance between himself and England like a yawning gulf.

He makes a phone call to M first, who picks up halfway through the second ring. Bond's already started back up the hall. 

"Q-Branch is compromised."

Silence for two full seconds. Bond isn't sure if it's because M is telling someone else to check, or if he's personally on the move. He hears papers shuffle and the scraping noise of a chair on hardwood. "That would explain the red alert signal I've just received. Evacuation is underway." Arched voice, panic presumably saved for later. "How did you—"

"Gunshots over the line. Maybe we should have a more aggressive interview process." Bond can't say he's shocked when he sees the flare of a flashlight up ahead. He back tracks into a side room to wait for his ambush. "Hope Moneypenny's ready for some fieldwork."

"You're still in Turkey? I'll get Tanner to arrange the extraction—"

"I'm going to have to call you back." 

The first mercenary takes the door to his temple. The next two share a bullet through their arms. 

The sixth one manages a wild, ricocheting shot that injures the seventh. But the eighth gets Bond in the calf, fair and square. Finding his way back out, backwards and with a heavy limp, pilfering ammo and weapons off the bodies left behind, takes Bond almost double the time it took him to arrive. He curses his speed with every uneven step. 

**

The plane ride is spent waiting to be able to turn his phone back out of airplane mode so he can call M and demand an update and ask for leads. But the car ride with Tanner back over to MI6 ends up being less of a report and more of a casualties list. 

"We were able to break into Q-Branch again about an hour after the initial lockdown that the attackers initiated."

"Saboteurs, you mean."

Tanner's expression is tense disappointment, but he nods. "Inside job, yes."

"And then they stole everything they could fit in their cars or their helicopter." Bond predicts. He stays staring out the window at the drizzling rain until Tanner's silence turns brittle as he misses a beat.

"No, actually." Bond feels that ice water sensation return, keeps his mouth a firm line while he waits on Tanner's report. "They just stole the Quastermaster."

**Author's Note:**

> As stated in the summary, I'm very open to suggestions - both for this fic and others. Want a chapter of imprisoned Q? Would rather skip right to the rescue? Enjoy your h/c on the very indulgent side? Like non-sexual age play as a way to calm down afterwards? I'm not intending for this work to be sexually explicit but there will likely be ship. Feel free to leave requests, just keep in mind that ultimately I can only pick what I find personally appealing/inspiring! There is a loose trajectory/plot already in mind, I'm just curious what to...season it with.


End file.
